


Let Me

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac wants to take care of his submissive after a scene. Combeferre is confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me

Combeferre is not used to being taken care of. His mother died when he was a small boy, and his father was more interested in advantage his bright young son could bring the family than anything else. Enjolras has been his dearest friend all their lives, but he needs Combeferre’s emotional support more than the other way around.

So when he’s on his knees, Courfeyrac’s come across his cheeks and fresh welts rising on his back, it’s a surprise to feel the gentleness of the hand that runs through his hair. 

“Sir?” he asks, quietly.

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Combeferre shifts a little, feeling the soreness in his knees, the throbbing of his back. It’s all good pain, though. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up.”

He starts to stand, and Courfeyrac stills him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Easy,” he murmurs, and gets down to his knees in front of Combeferre, pulling him into his arms. “Take it slow, my love.”

“Are- is the scene over?”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac murmurs. “But I’d like it very much if you’d let me take care of you, my darling.”

“I’m fine,” Combeferre says, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “I can go.”

“Go where? Do you not like aftercare?”

“I don’t need it.”

“But would you let me?”

“Let you?” Combeferre feels stupid, but he doesn’t understand.

“I like to take care of my submissive after a scene. Unless you object, that means I would like to take care of you. However, if you prefer to be alone, I can give you some space, absolutely.”

“You don’t have to,” Combeferre mutters. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“I promise, love, it is nothing but a pleasure to take care of you.” Courfeyrac kisses his forehead. “Let’s get you onto the bed, sweet boy, and then I’ll go to the bathroom and get a cloth to clean you up.”

“I’m okay,” Combeferre assures him, but Courfeyrac pays no mind. He gently eases his arms under Combeferre’s, helping the larger man to his feet. He guides Combeferre onto the bed, helping him lie down on his side and making sure he’s comfortable on the bed.

“I’ll be back in just a moment,” Courfeyrac assures him, and then he’s gone. 

The second his warmth is gone sadness slams into Combeferre like a fist. He isn’t even sure why, but suddenly instead of feeling peaceful and well-fucked there’s a shattering emptiness somewhere in his gut. He tucks his knees up to his chest and tries to focus on breathing.

It’s only a second before Courfeyrac is back. “Hey, ‘ferre. You all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Sorry I had to go.” Courfeyrac presses a warm, damp cloth against his cheek, wiping away his come. He’s slow and gentle and deliberate about it, until Combeferre is clean. Then he guides Combeferre over onto his front. “Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Combeferre murmurs. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. It’s okay?”

“It’s great,” Courfeyrac encourages him. “You’re doing great. I just need to take a look at your back. Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Bad pain, or good pain?”

“G-good, I think? I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Courfeyrac soothes. “You’re doing perfectly. I know it’s hard. Just a couple more questions, okay?”

“Okay.”

“That’s my good boy. Now, are you hungry?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you think you could drink some juice for me? Sugar’s good after a rough scene like that.”

“I- I can try,” Combeferre says. “Sorry.”

“Sweetheart, nothing to apologize for.” Courfeyrac’s fingers are pressing gently against the marks on his back, feeling the welts. “Looks like you’re okay. None of them have split, no bleeding. You’ll be all healed in a couple of days.”

“I am sorry, though. I’m- you don’t have to-“

“Have to what?” Courfeyrac gently asks.

“All this. I mean, I can go.”

“Combeferre, I don’t want you to go.”

“But-“

“But what?”

“But we’re done. I mean, the scene is over, right?” Combeferre asks, suddenly uncertain.

“The scene is over, but I haven’t taken care of you yet. You were so amazing, I want to take a little time to just enjoy that. Is that all right?”

“Yes, sir. If you want, I mean.”

“I do,” Courfeyrac assures him, dropping a little kiss on the back of his neck, and reaches into the bedside drawer where he retrieves two Capri-suns. 

“I’m fine,” Combeferre insists.

“I know. These are just tasty. Plus, sugar. It’s good for you.”

“Fine,” Combeferre agrees reluctantly.

“Cheers.” Courfeyrac sticks the straws in and hands Combefere the juice, chugging his own with a smile. Reluctantly, Combeferre does the same. When the pouch is empty, Courfeyrac retrieves it, tossing the trash over the side of the bed and onto the floor.

“That’s disgusting,” Combeferre mumbles.

Courfeyrac kisses him soundly, and then pronounces, “You’re disgusting. Scootch.”

He guides Combeferre over to lie on his side and curls up behind him, tucking his chest against Combeferre’s back.

Courfeyrac nuzzles into the nape of Combeferre’s neck. “You were so good, honey.”

“Th-thank you?”

“Shh. Don’t worry. Just let me, okay?”

Combeferre isn’t sure exactly what he’s supposed to be letting Courfeyrac do, so he just lies there, still and uncertain, as Courfeyrac’s hands slowly trace up his arms, then back down his side. 

“You are so beautiful, Combeferre. So gorgeous and sexy. I’m so lucky to have you in my bed.”

“So are you. I mean, you too.”

Courfeyrac hums and kisses Combeferre right underneath his ear, tender and sweet. “You were perfect. So good. I’m so proud of you.”

Combeferre shivers a little. “You don’t have to—say all this stuff,” he mumbles, his face flushing. “I’m all right. I’ll be all right—“

“Hey,” Courfeyrac hesitates, suddenly concerned. “’Ferre? What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” Combeferre whispers, horrified as he realizes his eyes are full of tears.

“Turn around? Let me see you?” Courfeyrac asks gently, and Combeferre obeys. Courfeyrac takes his hands, leaning in to kiss away his tears. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I just—you’re so, you’re so kind, and I don’t—I don’t know, Courf, I’m so sorry—“

“Okay. Let’s do some more questions, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Good boy,” Courfeyrac says. “You’re doing well. Really well. Now, are you feeling shaky?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anxious?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Cold?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else you should tell me? Anything else you’re feeling?”

“Stupid,” Combeferre mutters. “For needing this. For needing—“

“’Ferre,” Courfeyrac sighs gently, kissing his forehead. “It’s not stupid. It’s really brave of you to trust me with this, and it’s really sweet and lovely, and I don’t want you to feel bad about any of this. Just let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” Combeferre manages.

“Come here.” Courfeyrac pulls him close, tucking the other man’s head into his chest and wrapping his arms around Combeferre so he can pet his hair. “You did so well, honey. You did perfect. I’m so proud of you, so proud of everything you are. It’s all right. It’s all right to cry, to feel whatever you need to. I’m here for you. I’m right here.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre says into Coufeyrac’s chest.

“Of course. Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.” Courfeyrac pulls the blanket up around Combeferre’s shoulders.

“You’re amazing,” Combeferre says, still a little teary.

Courfeyrac kisses the top of Combeferre’s head and holds him close, whispering again and again how good and sweet he’s been, how safe and cared for he is, until Combeferre’s breathing evens out and he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
